


Write You Stupid Wanna-be Author

by MelodyAR



Category: Original - Fandom, doki doki literature club
Genre: Attempted Suicide, F/F, F/M, More Tags as I update, Most people are OCs, One-Shots, This is just a bunch of writing prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-27 02:35:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13871271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelodyAR/pseuds/MelodyAR
Summary: This is just a collection of short stories from writing prompts. I might take some of them and make them whole stories, but for the most part this will be one-shots.





	1. Cookies at 6am are the best

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya, it's Mel. Just wanted to say that I haven't figured out any sort of proof-reading yet, and these are probably mostly going to be 'I'm bored, I haven't updated this week, what prompts haven't I done yet', so don't expect much quality. Or consistency. At all.

I look up. Oh god, it's him again.  
"I swear to god, I am not stalking you." I say as I reach the counter. He gives me an amused smile, and shrugs.  
This is the 12th time I've come to this place this month and IT'S ALWAYS HIS SHIFT.  
"Honestly, I'm more concerned as to why you are always here at 6:00am because I don't think that's normal." He jokes, but he's not lying. 12 times at a cookie shop and that's just this month - I've lost count of the amount of early-morning cookie trips I've been on.  
He doesn't even ask me: he hands me a chocolate chip cookie in a bag and I hand him the money. It's a silent understanding we have. I always choose the same thing, he doesn't change the price. Not much of a deal, since I don't think he actually can change the price, but it works.  
I finish the cookie, leant against the window (there's not much point in sitting down, I need to rush out and I eat them pretty quickly). As I go to put the bag in the bin, I glance at the guy. Has he ever even told me his name?  
His face is annoyed, and he's staring rather intensely at me.  
"Uh..."  
He pales.  
"Uh- don't mind me- um."  
Frowning, I peer inside the bag. It's empty, just like normal. I stick my hand inside.  
A... note?  
I can't help but notice his gleaming grin as I unfold it.  
Josh- 08673850826  
With a snort I look up.  
"You asking me something?"  
At his blushing face, I snort again.  
"Well, I gotta rush, but tell Josh that I said yes."  
I turn to leave, grinning.  
"Uh-" Looks like I got him.  
"Yes, Josh?" I flutter my eyelashes as I turn to face him. He groans.  
"Go away, jerk. I'll be expecting a call at some point this week, or you're not allowed back."  
"Will do." And then I leave.


	2. What are these people doing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whatever you write on your body, it appears on your Soulmate's body. Of course, writing on your arm is now basically texting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SM stands for Soulmate, btw.   
> Also, this is probably really bad writing so... sorry.

Yawn.   
The professor is droning on, and on, and on, and on, and...  
You look at your arm. SM hasn't said anything today.   
Subtly as possible, you pick up a pen and write:  
'Yo, you awake? My day is sucking hard.'  
'Yeah, mine too. What's up?'  
'Dumb professor, dumb school. Learnt this in primary school, m8.'  
'M8?'  
'Don't mind my text-speak, I'm lazy and paranoid that Sir is going to notice.'  
'You should be paying attention!'  
'You say that like you're not in school too.'  
'Touche'  
'Touché'  
'Shut up'  
'No you'  
'You're one to talk'  
'Oke shush nao'  
'You speaking English?'  
'You human?'  
'Think so. Might be dancer'  
'Lol'  
The teacher clears his throat.   
'Been caught, ttyl'  
"Y/N, what do you think you're doing?"  
Sass or suck-up? Sass or suck-up?  
"Sorry sir, I was just talking with SM."  
Suck-up.   
"You can talk after class. This is my lesson."  
*ring!*  
"Or not. Don't forget about the homework during the holidays!"  
Thank god that's over.   
'So, you doing anything over the holidays?' Hopefully SM hasn't left while I was being yelled at.   
'Not really. Planning on staying at home.' There she is.   
'Lazy bones'  
'Skullking is not lazy'  
'Do you even know what that word means?'  
'Nope, but you missed my pun'  
'I didn't miss it, I chose to ignore'  
'You're so mean' I laugh.   
'You just don't tickle my ribs'  
'*does loud, unattractive snort*'  
'Whyyyyyyyy are you my soulmate'  
'You punned too, you're as bad as me'  
'Touché'  
'Are you rubbing in my inability to remember accents?'  
'Whaaaaaaaaaa'  
'Anyway, are you doing anything in the hols?'  
'Ye am goin 2 Edbruh'  
'English pls'  
'*Please'  
'Shut up and tell me where you're going'  
'You gonna stalk me?'  
'No I just think that you're going to be right in my area if you said what I think you said' WHAT.   
'Wait wait wait where do you live'  
'Edinburgh'  
'JESUS BLEEPITY BLEEP'  
'10/10 censorship'  
'No time for jokes mate tell me your address nao'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, there's a lot of dialogue.   
> Plus, can I just say that if I could do this, the first thing I would ask would be where they lived because seriously guys I wanna meet my soulmate.


	3. Gunpoint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murder has never been his strong suit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from my writing club.

To save his own life, Damian would have to kill. That was the only thought I could think: he would have to kill. And I could pretty much guarantee that I was going to be the victim.  
3 of us had been locked in a room, separated from him by a sheet of glass. There was a gun locked in position on a table by him, and the 3 of us were tied up against a brick wall.  
There's me, his first friend. Not particularly smart, or funny, or even kind, but still his friend.  
There's Tom, his best friend. We never really got along, since he stole Damian from me, but I guess I can respect him.  
There's Molly, his girlfriend. Very little to say about her - I don't know her much, just that she's really close to him.  
A small TV is sat above our heads. Seconds ago, the static was accompanied by a voice, explaining that the glass was fragile. The door positioned to my right is the only exit; there will be no chance of him living where he is now. If he shot the glass, he would be able to walk free.  
The catch was that as soon as he tried to aim the gun, he realised that there was only 3 positions. Aim at me, Tom or Molly. Let us all die slowly, or shoot one of us. And, as I said, I don't fancy my chances.  
The pain in his eyes is clear. He has never been comfortable with violence, in any form; I think this might break him.

Damian is kind of weak, so it surprises me when he attempts to tear the gun from the mechanism holding it to the table. I can see what he's doing immediately: if he can get it out of the mechanism, he can avoid shooting us.   
After a minute of wrestling, he finally rips the gun from the table. Damian stumbles back, just barely avoiding falling over.   
I grin at everyone, thankful that nobody has to die.   
I grin, until he pulls the trigger.   
I grin, until he pulls the trigger.   
I grin, until he pulls the trigger.   
I can't grin.   
I can't smile.   
All is lost.   
He pulls the trigger.   
Nothing happens.   
Nothing.   
Nothing.   
Nothing.   
Silence. 

He pulls it again.   
Again.   
Again.   
No.   
No.   
No.   
Nononononononono

 

The gun won't go back.   
The gun is broken. 

 

Murder never was his strong suit. 

 

But here we are. 

 

Dying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear to god, I did not mean for this to be so grim.


	4. Helpmeplease

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please, please, help, I can't see, everything is dark I can't see help me help me help me help me help me help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where are you?

Where are you  
Flashing lights  
Red, blue, green  
Purple, pink, black  
I know you're there  
Can you hear me?  
I can't hear you  
Are you talking?

What is this  
Bursts of pain  
Red, red, black  
Black, white, grey  
Trapped, calling  
Pain, falling  
I don't know what's happening  
Where are you?  
I can't see you  
Are you there?

Why am I here  
Forgotten, broken  
Tossed aside, left alone  
Stillhopingstillwaiting  
Stillreachingstillcrying  
Tears falling  
I'm falling  
No floor  
No hope  
Do you still love me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by DDLC's Monika.


	5. Party Tattoos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where did you get that tattoo?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Dodie.

It had been a normal day.  
Get up, get dressed, go to work.  
Lunch break, back to work, leave.  
Go home, shower, go to bed - except not entirely.  
As you stepped out of the shower, you glanced in the mirror. Nothing unusual: a bruise from walking into your chair on your leg, but otherwise you were fine. But then, on your shoulder, a small tattoo. A heart.  
You ran through your memories.  
You hated tattoos. You thought that people who got them were stupid. It was painful as all hell, twice as much to remove it, and honestly, pointless. But, what else could it be? It didn't come off in the shower.  
You shrugged it off (ha, tattooed shoulder gets shrugged off) and carried on as usual.  
Get up, get dressed, go to work.  
Lunch break, back to work, leave.  
Go home. Check your shoulder.  
It's still there, but now the words 'You're kinda cute' are written beside it. What?

Get up, get dressed, go to work.  
Lunch break. Time to get to work.  
You approach people at random, people who sit by you, and ask about the tattoo. You show them a picture (quite a few people don't believe you and refuse to look at your shoulder) and ask if they know anything about it. Everyone either tells you 'no', or the same things you've been telling yourself. Nobody is of any use.  
Go home. Check your shoulder.  
'What is that?' and similar sentences litter your shoulder, moving down your arm like inky water. 'She's lying.' 'I don't believe her.' 'Just a tattoo.'  
But then...  
'That looks like my writing... my thoughts.'  
Somebody recognised them and said nothing - although, to be fair, you're not sure you would admit to those being your thoughts either.

You can hardly believe how normal this has become. Every day, you come home and look at all of the 'tattoos' everywhere on your body, reading all of the thoughts about you. It's no longer just 1 person - various scrawls cling to you like a second skin, telling you what everyone thinks. You recognise the handwriting of an old friend, and realise that this is everyone's thoughts on you. Every time someone thinks of you.  
You trace the words. The heart on your shoulder. The insult on your leg. Every opinion. Every reminder. Every question from what you guess to be strangers.  
You resolve to find out whose handwriting that second comment is.

For the next week, you scan notes and notices, watching for the writing that matches. You don't even know why you're doing it. You just know that you have to find them.  
At the end of Thursday, the 5th day of searching, you find what you're looking for. On the notice board, someone has put up a rota for coffee runs. Bingo.

“Hey, Janet?” You ask the woman next to you. “Do you know who writes the coffee schedule?”  
“Psh, yeah. I’m assuming you want to know what it says. I keep telling Luke to type it out like a normal person, but he always says it looks better,” she rolls her eyes, clearly irritated. “I’ve been trying for forever. Maybe you can change his mind.”  
“Uh...” You actually thought his handwriting was beautiful, but never mind.   
“He’s over there.” Janet gestures vaguely over your shoulder. You thank her and hurry toward the man.   
“Hey, uh, are you Luke?” The man startles. He turns to you, face like a tomato, and begins stammering,  
“I- uh- yeah, I’m- uh- I’m Luke. You were, you were talking to Janet, just, just now, I mean I wasn’t watching you but uh I just saw and you’re probably asking about the coffee and I will type it up, if it’s bothering you, I...”  
You feel a little guilty, but you can’t help sniggering at how flustered he is.   
“No, actually. I’m asking about this.” you pull your sleeve up and show him his writing.   
“Oh! Oh, that- um, that’s a lot of tattoos.”   
You shake your head. No. They’re not tattoos.   
“What? Then what are they?”  
“Well, the first one was a heart. Then a compliment in your handwriting. A few questions when I asked around. An insult when I fell into someone. A nostalgic thought from an old friend. I honestly can’t tell you, but I think they’re what people think about me.”  
“I- oh, so, you recognised- you recognised my, my handwriting, um, I’m sorry I should be going I-” He begins to turn away, but you catch his shoulder and look him in the eyes. They dart here and there, searching for a way out, but find none.   
“Do, uh,” dammit, just talk to him! “Do you really think I’m cute?” You’re sure you’re blushing now, but not nearly as much as he is.   
He takes a deep breath, albeit a shaky one, and with a trembling voice he says,  
“Yeah, yeah I do.”

A few days later, you ask him on a date.   
A few weeks later, he asks you to be his girlfriend.   
Two months later, he knocks on your door, marches in, and turns on the TV.   
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” You smile at him, but he’s staring at the TV still, searching for a channel.   
He turns on the news.   
“-all over the world are claiming that tattoos of people’s thoughts are appearing on their body. The tattoos only seem to last a month, and have perplexed doctors and scientists everywhere. Could this be the start of a whole new world?”  
You stare at him in shock. So, this isn’t just a one-off. There are others.   
He wordlessly slides his shirt up, revealing tattoos across his stomach. You recognise your own handwriting amongst many other scribbles. You think you recognise his own, but he puts his shirt down again before you can read it.   
“What does it mean?” You ask nobody in particular. He looks down, unable to answer, and you look up, trying to think- even a theory would be good now, but there’s nothing.   
“Nobody can understand it. Even conspiracy theorists have gone quiet. The internet is raging, it’s only a short time before someone twists this into a meme.” Luke laughs as he finishes that last bit, and you smile too, but your mind is occupied.   
What does it mean?  
What could it mean?  
“It’s a whole new world, Luke.” It’s the only thing you can think to say.   
A world that nobody understands. 

It’s only later that you see the words ‘useless’, ‘worthless’ and ‘pitiful’ on Luke’s mostly-hidden wrist.   
You very nearly miss the way he holds his stomach, like he’s terrified of anyone looking.   
You’re not sure when you see the light reflect the tear streaks on his face one evening.   
You never stop looking at people’s words and handwriting after you see the blood in the sink.   
You never stop looking after you snatch the empty pill bottle from his hand, dialling 999 and hoping to god there weren’t that many left.   
You weren’t always happy with the way people’s thoughts were so openly shown.   
You were glad they were when he came out of the hospital alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't actually have much of an opinion on tattoos. I don't think I'll ever get one, but I certainly don't hate them. Even so, I’m in love with this sort of thing (soulmate AUs and AUs in general are my favourite thing).   
> Also I swear that I’m ok. I really didn’t intend for everything to go so dark at the end.


	6. Role Models

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something I wrote for creative writing club @ school.  
> *WARNING*   
> Very very very cheesy. So cheesy. Can't even. Please skip this chapter if you are sensitive to cheesy nonsense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had like so many people in mind but I couldn't decide how to write about them (read as: felt like I was going to freak everyone out with my fangirliness) so I just decided to be extremely vague and general.

I have a lot of role models  
I have a lot of dreams  
I know a lot of people  
Who are more than you believe

I have so many role models  
I can’t just pick one out  
I am so proud of so many  
But none of them are proud

I aspire to be like my parents  
They support each other, they support me  
They have worked for good lives  
I am safe with them

I aspire to be like my friends  
They are fun and kind and true  
I feel happy with them around  
We pick each other up, we stand strong

I aspire to be like actors  
Who can show me places that I can never go  
The ones that I watch when my world goes too fast  
Heartache, loss, and wonder

I aspire to be like authors  
With universes inside their heads  
Somehow showing a new perspective  
Giving me people to love

I aspire to be like myself  
To be the girl I want to be  
I want to be confident and strong  
I want to determined and kind

You change everyone around you  
A smile can save someone’s life  
Nobody should feel worthless  
It’s just not worth the strife

But role models aren’t always good  
If you’re not careful, you could maim  
Someone’s view of the world, make them dark and alone  
So watch what you can change

There are so many people to take inspiration from  
But so much fear and self-hate  
Everyone is a role model to me  
Everyone can be great

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long in updating. Completely forgot about this.


	8. Well, this is new

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you turn 18, you get your dæmon - essentially you, but as an animal. Your family is known for lame, boring animals. That is, until your 18th birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What on earth? That’s not possible!  
> Is that really your dæmon?

It’s time.  
It’s your 18th birthday.  
Now, you get your frog. Or fly.

Honestly, you’re not that excited. Everyone else around you freaks out:  
‘I hope it’s a lion’; ‘I want a dog’; ‘What do you think I’ll be’; ‘My mum says I’ll be a cat’.  
Everyone else looks forward to their 18th. Not you.  
Your family is famous for the worst dæmons ever. Your mum and dad have a spider and fly, respectively. The jokes are endless.  
You’ve survived years of teasing and bullying to get to this point and not all of it was from other people. God knows you’ve given up hope more times then you can count.  
Hey, that’s a thought. Maybe you’ll get a cockroach.  
With that horrid thought slumped in your head, you pull your feet beneath you and reluctantly stand up. Your birthday is at 6:57pm, which gives you an hour to put on some nice clothes and get to the town centre. You don’t know what happens if you’re late, but you’re not going to take that chance.  
“Amelie!” your dad calls from downstairs. “Hurry up, you don’t want to be late!”  
Like a fly on the wall, you think, like he can always see what’s happening.  
You take the hanger out of your wardrobe (you’ve had the outfit picked for ages) and put it on.  
It’s a nice dress, vivid orange and red. It matches the autumn leaves outside your window; you spend a minute or so just looking at your reflection. After a minute or so of debate you take a glittering black necklace from your jewellery box as well as a black cardigan to match.  
Nodding at the mirror one last time, you push open the door and walk down the stairs.  
Your parents’ eyes match your necklace: glittering, shining. They’re about to cry. You might understand why if you weren’t going to get your new cockroach friend.  
A small smile and several pictures later, you begin making your way to the town centre. There’s a special area there, where the mayor mutters in some old language and your dæmon makes a dramatic entrance - well, as dramatic as it can. You don’t imagine cockroaches can make a dramatic entrance very well.  
It’s not very private. Anyone can come and watch; when Ben Charp turned 18, most of the town turned up. Nobody could figure out what his would be. It was a platypus. You felt bad for him in the crowd of laughter.  
Sure enough, by the time you get there, a few people have gathered. Your parents will be here any second, but for now you just see sneers and mocking eyes.  
15 minutes pass. You regret coming early. The whispers have only gotten louder as a couple of others have joined the crowd. The mayor gives you an unreadable look. You choose to take it as comfort. Your parents show up.  
A few minutes later, the mayor clears her throat. She says a few words about coming of age, about what dæmons mean, about what they do for you. Typical stuff taught in primary school. Dæmons are a representative of you, another set of eyes and experiences that merge with yours like one. It’s a feeling unlike any other, apparently. Knowing how to fly, how to breathe underwater, how to run and run and do it faster than anyone, it’s breathtaking. Apparently.  
The mayor finishes her speech and starts muttering. The crowd begin giggling, and you hear predictions. Somewhere in there is ‘cockroach’. Figures.  
Then, it gets warm. Really, weirdly warm for autumn. Quickly, steadily getting warmer. You take your cardigan off.  
The crowd is whispering again. _What’s going on?_  
Just in front of your feet, the ground turns crimson, then black, then amber. Outside of your vision, everyone steps back.  
Suddenly, the ground explodes into flame, dancing and flickering, reaching out to you, licking and spitting and writhing and _you’re not scared_. You’re just incredibly aware of how hot it is. Like you’re burning inside.  
Then, glowing light, so bright the fire seems to dim. Then the fire dies.  
Something lies there, covered in soot and ash. It shakes black dust off its great wings and stands up tall, bright feathers matching your dress perfectly.  
The crowd is silent.  
A cockroach, they said.  
A phoenix, it said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dæmons are partly inspired by Philip Pullman’s Dark Materials trilogy.


	9. Freezing Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being alone does wonders for your psyche.   
> Having someone else does more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t remember if I’ve sworn in my posts before, but this one contains swearing. Just a heads up.

I am alone.   
This isn't exaggeration.   
I am literally alone.   
Even before, I was alone- just in a much more figurative sense. I was an outcast.   
Now, there's nobody to cast me out.   
When I was 12, I discovered that time would freeze whenever someone was in danger. Whether this meant about to fall off a cliff or about to spoil a cliffhanger, I would be suddenly alone to 'save' whoever was in trouble.   
It became a normal part of my life, more me than me, really. I was a hero. I had a purpose.   
Except, when I turned 15, time froze for real.   
Somebody tripped. Not much of a disaster but one that I was made to stop. I walked in front of them, prepared to catch them as they fell, and nothing happened.   
Nothing happened.   
Nothing.   
No movement.   
No noise.   
Just me, posed to catch someone who would never fall.   
I've lost track of how long I've searched. If the world ever unfreezes, it's going to be very confused over the amount of food missing.   
One thing about time being permanently frozen is that the ocean is still: I can walk on water. Take that, rational science and logic.   
I worried for ages over it. What if it randomly unfroze? I'd be stuck floating in the sea, having mysteriously disappeared off the face of the Earth. Scientists would have a very hard time explaining that.   
Right now, I'm in America. Not sure which state.   
Brushing through still air, I keep to the shade. There's a coffee shop with the door ajar; with a bit of wriggling, I can squeeze through. Sorry, but I need cookies.   
I sit at the table, humming Centuries to myself. Another small advantage of frozen time- I can sing however loudly I want.   
"And just one mistake..."  
With a clatter, I fall off of the wooden chair. That wasn't my voice.   
WHAT?!  
"Hello?" I call out in what I hope is a confident voice: if they're real, I want to make a good first impression. If not, no harm done.   
"Uh- hi." Nope, that is definitely someone else. Unless I'm hallucinating. Which I hope I'm not.   
"Where are you?" Auditory, I can handle. If I can see someone moving, I'll know for real.   
Then someone goes and steps out from the store room. I'd better not find out that time's unfrozen, cause it would suck to find myself stranded in a foreign place alone.   
"Oh my god, it's you." They charge forward, I brace for a relieved hug and-  
Ok, so maybe I should've expected the slap.   
"What the hell was that for?!"  
"You're the one that froze everything! I've been living alone for- I don't even know how long!"  
"It's not a willing thing! It just happens!"  
"It just happens?! IT JUST HAPPENS?!"  
"Yes! Whenever someone's in trouble, time freezes so I can save them!"  
"Well then save them! I don't have time for this! I don't have time full stop! You stopped it!"  
"I did save them! It didn't work! Time wouldn't unfreeze!"  
"So save someone else!"  
"I. CAN'T." I scream back at her, voice raw from underuse.   
"What do you mean you can't-"  
"I have been traveling the entire world to find this mystery person! I have left my home alone before I can even drive and I do not have a single idea on how to save the planet! You’ve probably just been hunting down cookies - but that’s none of my business - while I hunt down a solution! Believe it or not, I can’t just Chuck Norris my way out of this! I have been struggling to survive for the past - however long we’ve been stuck like this - so excuse me Mrs ‘Just Do It’ but I have a VERY FUCKING DIFFICULT ETERNITY!"  
Silence. I suddenly realise that I might have just snapped at the last living person on earth, and that that really isn’t a good idea. She’s stunned, still stood stupidly staring at me.   
"Did you just reference a meme? Or three?"  
I can't help it- I laugh. I laugh until my belly hurts. I laugh until I'm wheezing for breath. I laugh and she laughs and we both end up crying, curled up on the floor surrounded by immobile people. I laugh, because I haven't in so long.   
"Yes."  
We laugh again, and I get the feeling that this is how it should be.   
“Hey, they may be old, but they’re the only things I had with me.”  
“Except Chuck Norris.”  
“Chuck, I wish Chuck Norris was with me. He could fix this.”  
Another chuckle, this time slightly less surprising, slightly less loud.   
"Do you live nearby?" I might as well ask.   
"Kinda, not really, but I was too scared to try crossing the ocean in cause it suddenly came alive again."  
"Oh."  
"What's wrong?"  
"I live in Britain."  
"Oh! Where?"  
"Near Stoke-on-Trent."  
"Really?! I live in Manchester!"  
"But... but you said you didn't cross the sea!"  
"I didn't! I was on holiday!"  
What a coincidence- listening to her closely, her voice does seem to resemble a Manchester accent. It's ridiculous.   
"Wait, so how come you're not frozen? Or scared out of your wits?" I ask her, confused.   
"Your power is to freeze time. Mine is to move in it." She goes on to explain that she thought that she could freeze time herself, initially, but later realised that it was totally random. She just froze in place whenever everyone else did so nobody freaked out. That is, until time stopped coming back.   
"Huh... um, where do you live?"  
"I just said-"  
"Right, yeah, sorry. What school do you go to?"  
"Barberry Highschool...?"  
"Oh."  
"You sound disappointed. Is something wrong?"  
"Well, I just - I really like talking to you. And, well, I'd like to know you when I'm not desperate for company, since I'm kinda paranoid that you're a hallucination."  
She laughs, a strangely beautiful sound.   
"That's ok, I thought you were a hallucination too. I'd love to hang out more after all of this: here, here's my number." She snatches a pen out of a nearby figure's coat, scribbling a number on my hand, before putting it back.   
"I'll see you around, ok?"  
She turns and leaves.   
I am alone once more.   
For the rest of my time wandering, I can only think of her. I cross the oceans humming our song (because it's our song now, it's ours) and I reach the land daydreaming. I wander through towns grinning like a maniac. I laugh out loud, I dance around.   
I don't even notice when I enter my hometown. I don't even think as I pass the park, where it all started. I only click when I walk past the falling girl, and she collapses on top of me.   
The surprise makes me wobble under her, but I place her back on her feet and stare blankly. She... moved?  
My- my friends! All around me, laughing about the 'hero in action', dancing, breathing, talking, living.   
And the number on my hand. The phone in my pocket.   
The rest of the trip to the park is a blur. It takes me a little while to get used to talking to them, using their names, emoting and talking about things to people instead of just monologuing to myself. Still, as much as concentration is needed, I keep thinking about her.   
Finally, we part, and I snatch my phone and stab the numbers in.   
Ring...  
Ring...  
"Hello?"  
"It's me."  
"Oh, hi!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote something else to finish this off, but it’s p bad. Enjoy this as it is, I guess.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone has prompts for me, write them in the comments! I'll try to write whatever I get, but y'know, nobody's gonna. Still, if you wanna, go ahead.


End file.
